


Your Hand, and My Glass Slipper

by akaatsuki



Series: Girls [2]
Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Pining, a pinch of angst just the way i like it :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 00:58:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16944000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaatsuki/pseuds/akaatsuki
Summary: Mashiro Tomoya spends roughly 80% of her theatre club practice trying not to stare incessantly at her incredibly beautiful senpai, Hidaka Hokuto. When they begin to rehearse for their Cinderella performance with Tomoya playing the part of Cinderella and Hokuto playing the part of Prince Charming, that 80% skyrockets to 95%.





	Your Hand, and My Glass Slipper

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is part of a series/collection of fics that are pretty much just me projecting and coping with my own personal experiences as well as other fun/cute stuff! at my core im just a lonely lesbian who wants to write characters that i can deeply resonate with, so this series/collection is an attempt at that, i guess! that means that some of these could get a bit personal and self-indulgent, but i really hope someone else can enjoy these as much as i enjoyed writing them! ♥

All that she needs to do is practice her breathing. In and out, in and out, deeply, just like how Nee-chan advised her to do when she felt herself becoming overwhelmed by her own anxiety. Out of a habit that she’s been stuck with since she was just a child, she begins to fiddle absently with one of the hair ties that holds her hair in two long, low ponytails that rest comfortably in front of her shoulders. She can already feel her knees wobbling beneath the long, voluminous skirt of the elegant gown that she’s wearing for play rehearsal. 

The door to the walk-in closet of the theatre club room opens, and she nearly jumps out of her skin at the sudden noise. A small squeak leaves her lips as she is startled—she’s relieved that her beloved senpai could not have possibly heard it from across the room, but she knows grudgingly that her  _ other  _ senpai most  _ definitely _ had heard it. Her dear, precious senpai, whom she held all the admiration in the world for, proceeds to exit the “dressing room” and enters the club room once more. Her hair, usually long, straight, and clipped in the back, now rests in a low ponytail that is thrown about her shoulder. And, of course, she fits her costume  _ perfectly _ ; the regal and beautiful  _ Prince Charming _ to her  _ Cinderella _ . Compared to herself,  _ Prince Charming _ doesn’t look even  _ half _ as nervous about the rehearsal. 

Typically, Mashiro Tomoya has to will herself with every fiber of her being not to stare dumbly at the beautiful, talented, and _amazing_ Hidaka Hokuto during their theatre practices. She already felt as though she was being tested by some cruel higher power each and every day that she had to report to this room, but now that Hokuto is prepared to take on the role of a prince and is even dressed the part, Tomoya is _certain_ that someone in the clouds is laughing at her. 

“Perfect, Hokuto-chan! The costume fits you perfectly—ah, but perhaps I should be calling you  _ Prince Charming _ instead, shouldn’t I!” 

Tomoya nearly groans aloud at the loud and piercing voice of Hibiki Wataru, who poses majestically upon the couch that had been set to the side to make room for their makeshift stage. A singular rose held between two slender fingers, Wataru sighs woefully, looking at the script held open in her opposite hand. 

“Now, let us rehearse the scene from the very top: the scene where  _ Prince Charming _ asks the lovely  _ Cinderella _ for a dance!” she announces boldly, a wide grin upon her lips as always. “Do it with  _ passion _ , you two! Make me truly feel… _ Amazed~! _ ” 

Tomoya’s going to make her feel  _ something _ , alright—but “amazed” probably  _ isn’t _ the right word for it. She swallows thickly and tries to run her first lines through her head before they get swallowed up and drowned by the aura emanating from the beautiful Hokuto, whose very presence is making her heart leap into her throat. 

Hokuto gives her a quick nod to confirm that she’s ready before her eyelids flutter closed and she falls perfectly into character. Tomoya may have given her a nod in return, but she feels nowhere _near_ ready, truthfully. In fact, with the way that Hokuto approaches her slowly and then bends her knee, Tomoya feels that she’s _never_ going to be ready. But now Hokuto is looking up at her with those lovely eyes, her soft lips parting into her first line, and Tomoya is trying so _hard_ to focus, _focus_ , but oh, _god_ , is it hard to try and remember what she’s supposed to be doing when her beloved, beautiful, wonderful, amazing, brilliant senpai is—

“My fair lady,” Hokuto declares, holding out her gloved hand in the most lovely invitation. Tomoya can feel herself growing light-headed at the very sight of it. “I may know not your name, but your beauty has enchanted me as if it were the silver moonlight itself. I implore, my fair lady: take my hand, and allow me even the shortest dance.” 

Oh, Hokuto is simply  _awing_  in her performance! Tomoya can’t help but nearly let her jaw drop at the display—Hokuto’s gaze is sharp and focused (though she wishes that the other had a bit more love in them), her posture perfect and her voice unparalleled. It’s at times like these where she simply can’t understand Wataru’s criticism of Hokuto’s acting. Of course, she  _ knows _ that Wataru knows far more than the two of them combined, but  _ how _ could there be anything to dislike about Hokuto’s acting, especially after  _ this _ ? 

“ _ Tomoya, _ ” Hokuto whispers suddenly, falling out of character for just a short moment, and Tomoya stands to attention on instinct with a small gasp.  _ Ah, right _ .  _ She’s completely ignoring the fact that they’re supposed to be having a conversation right now _ . 

“Ah, u-um!” she clears her throat quickly, though she’s certain that Wataru is shaking her head hopelessly at the two of them right now. “I…I am honored, my prince…! O…of course I will dance with you…!”   

Ah, her hand is shaking. It trembles further when she places it upon Hokuto’s open palm, and continues to do so even when Hokuto’s warm and gentle fingers enclose around her hand. How embarrassing; she’s certain that Hokuto must think that she’s foolish for getting so nervous over something as simple as one of their first rehearsals. Or, even worse—maybe Hokuto can tell that she’s nervous because she truly and honestly _likes_ Hokuto, and maybe now Hokuto will finally realize that she’s hopeless and awkward and let go of her hand entirely—

“How awful! Tomoya-chan, your lines are all wrong!” Wataru interrupts with a dramatic tone, wiping away a fake tear as she mourns the failed scene. “All wrong, all wrong~! We’ll have to do it again and again until the two of you are a little more than complete failures~!” 

“I’m sorry, Tomoya,” Hokuto apologizes as she rises to her feet, looking at the other sympathetically. “If I was saying my lines too seriously, I can see why you got nervous…I’ll try to do it better next time.” 

Tomoya’s voice catches in her throat at this; she wants to speak up and tell Hokuto that it’s not at all her fault, and rather, it’s her  _ own _ fault that they just failed so miserably. She wants to tell Hokuto how passionately she admires her in all aspects of her character, and that she knows she can’t possibly compare, and that’s why she’s so grateful to be able to perform with her. Most of all, she wants to spill her heart to Hokuto; to tell her how all of her thoughts are occupied with her kindness and her beauty, and how she dreams at night of walking hand-in-hand along the sidewalk in the heart of December, snow falling around them like little pieces of heaven.  

But she just  _ can’t _ . Even if she tried to, the words would only stop halfway up her throat and die by the time they reach the tip of her tongue. She’s too afraid of rejection, too afraid of Hokuto looking at her with disappointment and declaring it too awkward to even remain friends. She’s too afraid of losing the light that drives her forward, her hand outstretched in a desperate attempt to grasp its source. 

“N-No,” she replies quietly, shaking her head at Hokuto’s words. “No, it isn’t you…I…I just completely forgot my line. I’m sorry, Hokuto-senpai…I’ll do better next time, I promise.” 

Tomoya knows that she can’t reach that brilliant light yet; her hand is too untrained and naive to possibly be able to capture that radiance. She knows that Hokuto is far too great for her, far too elegant and beautiful. Hokuto is the distant dream that comforts her in her sleep, but, at the end of the day, is nothing more than that: a sweet, wonderful dream. 

It hurts, of course. She certainly cries over it and her heart aches over it, desperate to somehow make that wish come true. But, as always, she’ll continue to play it safe, keeping at a proper distance, knowing that she just isn’t the main character of some flowery fairy-tale with a “happily ever after.” Hokuto is a masterpiece, a treasured work of art that is locked away in a polished glass display, and she is nothing but the tourist who wanders past it, longing to touch but never able to do anything more than gaze and dream. 

_ But, well, that’s okay, _ she always thinks to herself when she finishes grieving over what she can never have. After all, just being able to talk to Hokuto and be in her presence each day is a miracle in her eyes, and enough to get her by. 


End file.
